A Changing of Moment
by Baka no Healthy
Summary: Drabbles building up on my version of Ageswap AU.
1. An Esper's Lore

**A/N: Cross-posted from AO3. This whole thing begins with a request I got on Tumblr that prompted me to write down some headcanons for MP100 Ageswap AU, which can be found in the 'ageswap au' tag on my tumblr.**

 **I have been debating with myself about writing this, but in the end I figured it'd be good writing practice, so why not, right? I really need to write more.**

 **Reviews and headcanon contributions are very appreciated. Thank you for reading.**

* * *

ESPER has a locked page on his blog.

Koucchi found out about it yesterday. He discussed it with Yuu this morning.

"It's been here since the beginning, my dude," Yuu laughed at him, "the mystery kinda died months ago I think. A year ago, even. Some other culters tried to open it somehow, but they didn't get anything interesting out of that."

"But did they see what's in there?" Koucchi asked.

Yuu shrugged. "I guess. Their screenshot showed only a weird story. Oddly plain, comparing to what ESPER usually writes. I mean, it'd be weird if it's a true story, not gonna downplay that, what's with haunting and exorcism and stuff… but, I don't know, it just doesn't have the usual delicacy ESPER puts into all of his works. It doesn't feel like him mostly."

What did they get out of that, in the end? Nothing, Koucchi supposed. It's a little easter egg ESPER's readers have for themselves. ESPER himself doesn't seem to care, as usual; he has stated in his description before that he wrote for himself, to think, thus he had no desire to publish his writings, or to listen to any comments, positive or negative. Koucchi figured the only reason why he hadn't turned off comments yet was because he wasn't bother to find out how.

After leaving that conversation with his friend, Koucchi scrounged through pages of discussion on different forums for the mentioned screenshots. They were relatively easy to find once he was on the right forum (a small mid-2000 one crappily made for the then-minuscule ESPER cult community), and as Yuu had told him, nothing spectacular or twisted at all. What they tell was weird and, well, almost heavy, if he was to give his honest opinion. Definitely not the usual ESPER, the one behind stories featured on his favourite writing blog's main page.

As a cryptid enthusiast, Koucchi couldn't let it sit like that. There was no hope in building any conspiracy theory on this small, forgotten, almost too plain thing, but he kept reading and rereading it, feeling like he was getting closer and closer to something at its core. If he could judge it based on what he knew about ESPER, Koucchi would say it was nothing big - it was never something grand in size - but rather something _real_. Because that was all ESPER was about to him. Something real through utterly personal lens.

Koucchi treasured that.

* * *

 _「On Spring 19XX, I met a spirit._

 _It was hovering at my family's gate into the garden when I came home from school. "Yo, partner," it greeted me when it saw me._

 _It was young - or at least it gave off that aura. It talked and smiled like a child, but in no way an adorable one. It felt young but also a lot more but that._

 _My brother was still at school at that moment, for some club activities. I told the spirit as much. It laughed, voice like clinking silver. "Why would I care about your brother? I'm here for you, not him." It pointed a hazy finger at me. "You're a lot better than him. You try when it comes to this. That's what I seek. Effort."_

 _Its words were laughable, really: my brother tried a lot harder than me. This is absolutely true. If I only yearned for his power, he tried to achieve everything else but that. He was not made for those things, things I deemed trivial but was the whole world to him, but he wanted them anyway. We were equally bizarre when it came to that._

 _"You aren't gonna find what you look for here," I told the spirit. "Go away before my brother comes home."_

 _"I already did though," it said, "find what I want, I mean. Let's come inside."_

 _I followed it to my room, feeling like a guest in my own home. The spirit came directly to the point when I'd sat down on my chair. "My name's Dimple, I'm an evil spirit. Let's make a deal."_

 _"Why would I want that?" I asked it._

 _"I can awaken your power."_

 _"I don't have that."_

 _"Trust me," the spirit smiled, showing its crooked milk teeth, "I'd know better than you."_

 _I told it I'd sleep on that deal when I heard my brother climbing up the stairs. "I know you aren't gonna give up on that," it said, "you have potentials. The power your brother owns is a waste. You deserve it more than him."_

 _In hindsight, its words said a lot more about it than about me, but what they meant was by no mean wrong. [...]」_

* * *

 _「[...] In Autumn 19XX, a small quarrel happened. Some students at Salt Middle School were personally targeted by the student council. It became something of a stain on the record of all members of the council, myself included, but in the end it had no real, lasting consequences._

 _Something else happened outside of my school during this scandal. Some of the students the council targeted were thugs, and they tried to solve their problems the thug way. Since I and another member of the council were after this whole thing, we were ambushed on our way home. Council President Kamuro Shinji was severely traumatised by that, both physically and emotionally. I came out of it the so-called 'winner'._

 _In truth, I did not feel like a winner. I did not feel most emotion anymore. There was a certain glee in that, in feeling detached, light, and powerful; I forcefully compared that state of being to that of my brother normally. I could almost confidently say that I did not feel shame and compassion anymore, except for that day when my brother bowed down before the students I targeted, begging them to forgive me._

 _That shame cut deeper than any part of me this power could reach._

 _I confronted my brother on that same day. "You were embarassing me," I told him. "Get a clue."_

 _He never said anything._

 _Dimple wasn't there for any of this, but it came back soon enough, surprised that things had gotten that much out of hand. It threw a hissy-fit._

 _"You were such a dumbass," it screeched at me, "make up with him! Don't ruin this for the both of us. You can still reach higher, if you straighten things out right now!"_

 _I believed it. Dimple's words had always proven to be true, except for when it came to my brother. I definitely knew me better than I knew myself. But that did not mean much anymore._

 _"You aren't gonna find what you look for here," I told it, like the first day I saw it._

 _It stuck with me anyway. Maybe it was the perfect addition to the punition I tried to deal on myself [...]」_

* * *

 _「[...] Maybe it was not as much about what it said as it was about how certain it looked when harassing me with words._

 _It was natural for me to believe Dimple - it has never been wrong about me. I was a coward. I was an asshole ready to use whatever method to achieve my desired endgame. I was a selfish, foolish kid. I was all of these people, and worse. Dimple knew this and reminded me about it frequently. I thought I deserved all of it._

 _Survival instinct had me alienating myself from all of that. I stopped using my power. I stopped writing to think. I stop thinking altogether, I think. It was not the light feeling I had when using power; in fact, it's the exact opposite: it felt like a constant deadline. I was being chased by myself, trying to take off and cut myself from that shameful me entirely._

 _Dimple mocked me about it. "Only if you'd be willing to talk to your brother," it sneered at me. "Your backbone just disappear more and more, it seems."_

 _I just took it._

 _On a summer night, 19XX, it tried to possess me in my sleep. It brought me all the way to my brother's room before I woke up. I managed to push it out._

 _I stayed in my room the next day. Dimple was gone without a trace._

 _My brother came to my room the day after that._

 _[...]」_

* * *

 _「[...] I guess in the end, I never realised that I could change. That I could not be the person Dimple described to me. That I could step away from both the shame I felt, and the figure I was obsessed with, and actually think about all of it._

 _Dimple returned after we started talking normally to each other again - almost a full six months after its disappearance. It was running away from something bigger._

 _"Please," it cried to us, "it was trying to eat me," and it felt so young._

 _My brother let it be, with the condition that it would not try to harm anyone. I was furious. I felt like I knew it better than him, but maybe I was just angry at what it did to me. I almost exorcised it myself._

 _But then I looked at it carefully, and saw that it was afraid._

 _It did not sit well with Dimple's appearance: the spirit had always been sleazy, gleeful in its tricks and lies, and always so sure of itself, the way children were. The fear in its eyes at that moment was sharp and entirely out of place._

 _Dimple, after the two years it spent haunting me, turned out to be a real being. It was not merely a part of the plot._

 _I swallowed that notion, and respected my brother's decision. Afterall, he always knew better than me when it came to these things._

 _Can this be considered a happy ending? I don't know. I personally don't think it can. It's, at worst, a normal ending, both with and without loss and gain, and at best, a part of the narratives [...]」_

* * *

Koucchi met Yuu again after half a month. "You're still on that thing?" He asked, clearly amused. "It's dead lore. Even if you can dig up something, nobody'd care anymore."

"I don't know," Koucchi replied, "it just feels… well… real. It really does. It's almost like a normal post in a personal blog, except for the whole, you know, supernatural thing."

"And what are you supposed to take away from that?"

Koucchi shrugged. "You don't have to shush me like that, I just find this interesting, is all. Really feels like we have a real piece of ESPER here, his, y'know, real self. Even if not in the events that happened in it, then in the personality of it."

"What does that even suppose to mean?" Yuu laughed.

Koucchi shrugged again. He reread the screenshots that night. Maybe it was just because they showed something different from the usual ESPER. The core really felt like the same, but really, none of this could be real. It felt like a flip of what ESPER usually did, if Koucchi dared to say; it's fantasy in a factual tone, rather than reality in a fractured personal voice. And somehow it's still ESPER, in the end.

It's just a tiny bit fascinating, that's all.

* * *

Ritsu read through the passage one more time.

"He's young, Ritsu," Mob has said as much in their afternoon. Ritsu assumed he was talking about the both of them, the kid who arrived to the office this afternoon and the spirit.

"It's still too risky," he replied. "Dimple is dangerous."

Mob looked down to the contact list that he was perusing. "He won't do anything," he said, simple as that.

Ritsu looked at the hard look he was giving the notebook, and knew to trust him. But just as precaution, he stayed in his room that evening after dinner to make a charm for the kid. The principles he was putting into it were a bit complicated, but in the end it worked adequately.

Ritsu read through the passage one more time. The screen was starting to feel a bit too bright.

 _「"Please," it cried to us, "it was trying to eat me," and it felt so young.」_

"Better safe than sorry," he mumbled to himself, and sealed the charm.


	2. Re-Preview

**A/N: So, something more light-hearted than the last one.**  
 **I think I need to make a timeline for this thing, because it might get confusing for myself after a while, with all the characters being introduced pretty far apart from each others.**  
 **Shou makes an appearance in this one, but it's not much yet. Reigen has more screentime. It's a clusterfuck of weird decisions. Hope you enjoy it anyway.**

* * *

"So," Reigen says.

Ritsu seems to stick closer and closer to his screen, while Mob looks up from the contact list he's perusing. "What's it, Reigen-kun?" He asks kindly.

The kid doesn't greet him with the same courtesy; his eyes are still on his math homework. "So, I had a really weird dream last night."

Ritsu is trying to merge with his laptop. Might have been a long day for him.

Mob, on the other hand, pays a bit more attention to the kid. Reigen doesn't overshare – it's just not something he, a fourteen year old kid, does, ever. He likes to ask questions, certainly, and has the tendency to land himself in very tricky situations, and of course he talks a lot, but not much of what comes out of his mouth is about himself. Which is not something typical fourteen-year-olds do, but, well.

So he tries to keep up with him. "What's the dream about?"

"There's a big man." Reigen starts chewing on his pencil. "Yeah, hm, he's like, a head or two taller than Kageyama-san. I don't think he has any hair. He speaks gibberish but also heavily accented Japanese sometimes. I mean full sentences in Japanese, not just words. I remember he gradually gets uglier, but in the end he suddenly looks okay again? What's 24 times 117?"

"2808", Ritsu replies before Mob can try to calculate it mentally. "Watch less TV."

"Thank you. 2808. Anyway, yeah, he comes to the office and asks for a, um, weapon of mass destruction. That's what it's called. It's like a flat bee hive full of deadly meat-eating bees."

"Let me write it down," Mob says, because this is a lot of information.

"No need, Master." Reigen holds up his left hand, his right hand still scribbling wildly on his notebook. "Okay, so, that man looks for that thing. And he insists it's in your head, so he tries to chuck a stapler at you, and from somewhere Suzuki-san just barges in and sings an English song at the top of his lungs and make the stapler explodes, and that's when the man transforms. Then you and him both levitate and wrestle with each other for a bit-"

Mob blinks. "He transforms..."

"I mean he looks okay again. I did say he got uglier, right? And at that point he suddenly looks okay again. He transforms." Reigen's gesturing rapidly with his left hand.

"Got it."

"Yeah. So you two wrestle, and you head butts him, which is really weird, and somehow release the bees—"

"Bees?"

"Deadly bees. Weapon of mass destruction."

Mob doesn't really feel okay, but he says it anyway, "Okay."

"And they eat the man. I wake up after that."

Ritsu is getting smaller, probably regretting having listened to that story, just a bit. Mob doesn't blame him. "Did you eat something sweet before going to bed? Or something hard to digest?"

Reigen shakes his head, making long lines on his notes with the pen he's holding. "I watched some random movie, but no snack. I can't stop thinking about it the whole day, so it must be important. On a subconscious level."

Mob looks from him to Ritsu.

"It's just a bad dream." Ritsu says cheerlessly. "A weird, bad dream."

"No evidence against that claim, I guess," Reigen says, holds up the notebook. It's a timeline of all the events in his dream, in chicken scrawl. Mob notices another notebook full of equations still on the table, right where the one in Reigen's hands just lay. It's still there after he blinks twice.

* * *

Their doorbell buzzes twenty minutes after Reigen has gone home.

Mob can feel the air from the moment he hears it. The gentleman stepping into their office seems to embody that feeling perfectly; his shadow pours over the floor tiles, almost impossibly large.

Ritsu closes his laptop at the man's entrance. "Welcome to Spirits and Such Consultation Office. Please sit."

Mob sits upright from his place in the armchair. He learns that from Reigen - sitting up straight with arms relaxed and hands on his lap without fidgeting is a professional and intimidating look that will work in his favor. "If you can't use your arms efficiently, then better not to use them at all," are the kid's exact words.

The man takes off his hat. It's as dusty and stuffy as the rest of his outfits. It's hard to tell his exact form, other than the fact that he is very tall. "I need help with an evil spirit," he says. His voice is raspy, but his breaths quiet.

"Please sit," Ritsu repeats. The man sits. "May I have your name, sir."

A moment of silence. "I, please call… please call me, I, ah, Batch." His voice is almost mechanical, except for the English name that he pronounces more confidently. "Just Batch."

"Okay," Ritsu's spotting his incredulous look, "Mr. Batch. Please state your problem."

The man - Batch - coughs; the sound seems forced. "Ah, yes, the, the evil spirit, uh, problem. I am, um, haunted by an evil… spirit." His voice grows more raspy with every word he says. It's almost inaudible by now. Ritsu and Mob have to sit forward a bit so they can hear him. "It asks, uh, asks for a, um, wea-pon. It says that wea-po-on can be found… here."

Despite his effort, Mob can't retain half of what he just says but one thing. "Sir, um, did you just said 'weapon'?"

Batch nods stiffly. His face almost sags from his head like it's too heavy.

Mob looks to Ritsu.

"I can definitely feel it," he says carefully, "but it's not present here. This is just its energy on him."

"I think the same, nii-san," Ritsu nods. Mob can see him cautiously eyeing the page from Reigen's notebook with the timeline scribbled on that the kid left on their table, as if it's an unknown force. Then he looks back at Batch, who seems to sink into his own shadow more and more. "We have no such weapon here, Mr. Batch," he says slowly, "but we can exorcise the evil spirit that is threatening you. Since we can't feel its existence with you, it must have haunted a place that you frequent, in order to affect you. Please lead us there."

Batch is staring at Mob. Mob gets a distinct impression that his eye sockets are getting larger. "Ye-yes," he mumbles. "Yes, that will, ah, that will do. Plea-a-ase save me, gentlemen."

Ritsu subtly pockets the notebook's page when they stand up after him.

* * *

Batch is walking jerkily in front of them. From what he told them, the spirit has been haunting his apartment, only a twenty minutes walk away from their office. It's in a not very comfortable-looking building that they both have never noticed before.

"That," Ritsu says, "among other things. The spirit doesn't directly possess him, but I feel like it's weakening him. He's melting in front of us." He points at Batch's collar, now soaked in… something. "That can generously be called 'transforming'."

Mob looks at the collar. "I guess." He keeps looking. "He is a head and a half taller than you."

"He is," Ritsu acknowledges begrudgingly, "absurdly tall. And his name is literally 'bee'."

"But it's an English name. _Ba-chi—_ " Mob's eyes light up. "Ah."

Ritsu definitely doesn't share that feeling of enlightenment. "He stared at you when we proposed to go to his house to exorcise the spirit. But he doesn't protest our saying that we don't have that weapon."

"That can come later," Mob says.

Ritsu looks at him with disbelief. "You," he says, "you believe in that."

Mob looks back at him. "That? You mean Reigen-kun's dream becoming reality? I guess that's how it is now, since you believe in that too…"

"I don't." Ritsu says. "Believe in that, I mean. I don't."

"You were picking out similarities." Mob states.

"We need to look at it from both sides."

"You bring the page with us."

"I like checking things out of a list," Ritsu says, helplessly. "I don't believe in that. I don't want to, and I don't, nii-san."

Mob keeps looking at him, with a bit of worry. "I guess you don't," he says.

Batch stops mid-step on his track. Slowly he looks back at them, his face— _cracking_. He looks almost like a stepped-on dried prune. "We're here," he rasps out with difficulties. Then he takes the rest of his step and turns left to enter the building.

Mob and Ritsu looks at each other. "He looks different," Mob says.

Ritsu blinks witheringly.

* * *

They climb three sets of stairs, Batch always in front of them. The apartment they stop in front of is nondescript as best, and degrading at worst. The door looks like it's about to bust.

"Ho-o-ome," Batch says. His hand slips from the door knob. "We're he-ere."

Ritsu steps ahead to hold Batch when the man seems about to collapse. He winces at his grip, but a moment after Batch's already standing up straight. When he looks up at them, his face is crushed. Mob can tell Ritsu's forcing himself not to stare.

"Please enter," Batch croaks, jerking the door open.

The floor is coated with something. Mob notices the dull light reflecting from it. He's careful with his steps. Ritsu does the same.

Batch's shadow blends with the furnitures'.

"It's here," Mob says. He looks around the room; this apartment is not very spacious. The big window gives them light, but it seems filtered somehow. He walks towards it.

Batch stumbles against his desk, spilling paperclips on the ground.

"Mr. Batch," Mob can feel Ritsu's eyes on him, "where is the spot that you first saw the spirit manifest—"

—and he's suddenly pushed against the curtains, his grip on them the only reason he hasn't fallen over yet. Mob looks back just in time to see a stapler flying out through the window, shattering the glass pane in the process.

Ritsu's power pulls him backward the moment Batch jumps at him. Mob falls back with the momentum when Ritsu releases his hold, but the man's caught his hand and he's jerked forward again.

He gets his footing back thanks to a power boost, but Batch's grip tightens at that surge of psychic energy. His face inflates, then settles into an almost normal look, except for blank eyes staring at Mob.

Ritsu blows a hole on Batch's shoulder at that moment, and he lets go of Mob. "It's wax! That's not a body it's influencing, it's a wax doll!"

Batch throws himself at Ritsu. Caught off guard, he's pushed back into the closet. It shatters. The floor seems to crack at their feet, but only pieces of wax fly up. Mob drags the wax man back, ready to crush him, but the apartment's door bursts open again and the stapler flies in, followed by Shou.

The stapler explodes against Mob's hastily-conjured shield, and while his grip on Batch loosens a bit, the man continues to hurl himself at him. Shou and Ritsu hold him still, but seconds after he's already struggling. "Don't just destroy the doll," Shou shouts through the sound of the rattling wind, "go for the beehive! It's gonna reform immediately otherwise, it's feeding on our energy."

"Beehive?" Mob asks. He's right next to the window.

"It's outside!" Shou says, at the same time as Ritsu's exclamation of "The window!"

There is a beehive on the tree outside the window.

With a flick of Mob's hand, it shatters against the apartment's wall.

Bees flow out of the hive - an impossible amount of bees. They swarm the room, cover the entire window, and swallow Batch's whole tattered body. Mob can barely see Ritsu and Shou under their shield, five steps away from him.

From the cloud of bees, Batch flies at him, through his shield, and his head makes contact with Mob's forehead with a 'thud'. It definitely startles him.

With one hand on the wax man's shoulder, Mob sets him on fire.

Shou and Ritsu watch as the fire runs from the burning wax figure to the entire swarm of bees. The room clears out in a handful of seconds.

Wax is melting at Ritsu's sole as he goes to Mob. His brother seems almost dazed. "Are you alright, nii-san?" He asks, carefully.

Mob blinks. "He headbutts me."

Ritsu's withering look makes a strong return.

"That's something," Shou says, while cleaning up the rubbles on the floor. He solidifies the wax on the floor, then evaporates them. The air seems cleaner afterwards. "Nice seeing you two here. How's the business going?"

"It's going well, thank you," Mob says, before Ritsu looks back at Shou and asks tiredly, "What're you doing here?"

"This thing moved here from another city," Shou explains. "One of my folks was injured by it. We've been following it for a while. It's usually pretty subtle with what it does."

"So, a coincidence," Ritsu says, taking the notebook page out of his pocket. He reads through the chicken scratch. "Must be," he adds, looking more and more like he's just swallowed one of the bees.

"There were bees," Mob says while rebuilding the closet, "and it was trying to get to my head."

"Your power is not generally considered a 'weapon'," Ritsu says.

"It can be," Shou chimes in. Ritsu gives him a sour look.

"It can be," Mob acknowledges. "The stapler exploded. Shou's here."

He can see Ritsu mumble "thanks for that, Suzuki" under his breath. Shou can probably see it too.

"There were bees." Mob says.

"You've mentioned that one, nii-san," Ritsu says. He's ready to give up.

Shou's been reading the page in Ritsu's hand over his shoulder. "This sounds kinda like Star Trek, by the way," he comments.

Both brothers look to him.

He raises one of his faint brows. "Star Trek, sci-fi franchise? It's not Star Wars, Kageyama-kun," he stops Mob before he can say anything, "though it's one of the classic space-themed franchises too. This thing written here sounds a bit like the third reboot movie that I just watched last night."

"Wait," Ritsu says, "you watched it last night."

"Yeah. The bee weapon sounds like the thing in that movie. Part of it's hidden in a character's head at one point, I remember. The man this page describes sound like the main villain too. He feeds on other beings' life force, and at the end he does look like human. Is this Arataka-kun's handwriting?"

Ritsu doesn't asnwer the question. "Does he get eaten by the weapon in the end?"

"I guess it can be described like that."

Mob looks at them. "Oh," he says, his eyes light up again with enlightenment. "It _is_ the TV."

Somehow Ritsu seems just as withered as before.

* * *

"So," Reigen says.

Ritsu seems to stick closer and closer to his screen, while Mob looks up from the contact list he's perusing. "What's it, Reigen-kun?" He asks kindly.

The kid doesn't greet him with the same courtesy; his eyes are still on his biology homework. "So, I had a really weird dream last night."

Ritsu speaks up before Mob can ask more questions. "Does it involve a cursed children book and a tall man with a top hat?"

Reigen seems to be caught off guard by that. "It does," he says. "How do you know?"

Mob and Ritsu look at each other. Ritsu sighs wearily.

"Watch less TV, kid."

* * *

A tall man with a top hat walks into their office anyway.

* * *

 **A/N: The second movie mentioned in this chapter is The Babadook, if anyone's curious.**


	3. Closed Doors

**A/N: Back to building up on Mob and Ritsu's background. Also back to fragmented, circling writing. At least it ends on a rather hopeful note this time.**

 **Basically a presentation of how fucked up Ritsu's got it in this AU. Really need to treat him better.**

 **Hope you get some enjoyment out of this.**

* * *

It's nine in the morning. You're in your room.

You look blearily at the ceiling. You can't be deemed "tidy" as much as "taught to clean up after yourselves"; along with the fact that you're not someone prone to form attachments, it makes for a clean and vacant room.

You almost regret the impersonality – there's nothing for you to stare at right now.

You think when there's nothing to stare at, or at least that's what you're supposed to do. You aren't thinking right now. Your thoughts are blurry. You squint to try to catch the outline of it, but the gesture gives way to a dull ache. There's nothing but you and your blurry thoughts and your blurry ache in a blank room.

 _Is the door locked?_ you ask yourself hazily. You don't know. It might be. It should be.

That's a funny thought you have there. Where does it come from?

* * *

It's ten thirty in the morning. You're in your room. On your mat, to be exact. Staring at the ceiling.

Your name is Kageyama Ritsu, you're fifteen years old, and right now you're in your room. It's ten thirty A.M. on a saturday morning of your summer break. Both of your parents are off to work. You cleaned your room yesterday. Threw out a bunch of things. That's why it's so empty right now. A lot of things aren't where they used to be anymore.

You don't feel the relief that should be the result of the cleaning you did.

Things have become a bit sharper after some effort from your side. The dull ache subsides a bit. You realise you don't have any energy. It's weird. You've not been this out of gas for a long while.

You don't think you're disturbed by this. Or, to be more exact, you don't know if you are or aren't.

You don't remember if the door's locked or not. _Better check that out_ , you remind yourself. _It's important_.

You ask yourself why, but like any thought in your head right now, the question's soon lost in the scrolling.

* * *

It's eleven twenty in the morning. You're in your room. On your mat. Staring at the ceiling.

It's lunch time. Your parents haven't been home for lunch with their children for a while. A year, maybe. It's usually you. You. Just you.

There should be some chicken in the fridge. You can cook some soup for yourself. Yourself.

You don't have any energy.

Your thoughts are echoing around in your head. With every echo, they jam their sharp edge into your brain. It hurts, but only barely. You don't even have the energy to feel the pain. You don't have the energy to stand up.

The door's probably locked anyway.

 _Is it? It should be._

 _It should be._

It's eleven twenty, the usual lunchtime, and you're in your room by yourself. Yourself.

* * *

It's midday. You're in your room. On your mat. Staring at the ceiling.

 _Stand up_ , you tell yourself, _or at least sit up_. You can't do this. You have to stand up. Get out. The door's locked. But you have to get out.

 _Why?_ you ask yourself. _I'm not that important_. You're not that important.

You aren't. What is? Who is?

"Can't let him worry," you mumble to yourself. "I always make something for lunch. We always-"

Your thoughts trail off. You look to the door. It's locked.

"We always make something for lunch," you say out loud. "We always make something for lunch. We always make something for lunch. We always..."

The door's locked. Should it be?

* * *

It's twelve forty P.M. You're in your room. On your mat. Staring at the door. You're late for lunch time.

There's a disappointment to that.

You don't cry. Maybe you want to, but you don't.

* * *

It's one in the afternoon. You're in your room. On your mat. Staring at the ceiling.

Somebody might have knocked, but you can't catch the sound fast enough. It's gone before you can tell if it's real or not. Somebody might have called you too, but you also might have just been dreaming.

Your name is Ritsu. You don't have a nickname. Your classmates calls you Kageyama-kun. None of your classmates would be here at the moment. Still, it could have been anyone. Especially since it might not be real.

You can smell the chicken. It's not seasoned quite right, but it's nice nonetheless. It reminds you of the lunch you just missed. You're supposed to make something with the chicken in the fridge and some soup to go with that. Now somebody's gotten to the chicken in your place.

"You really shouldn't", you mumble (to whom are you speaking?). It's not like the door's open anyway. It's locked. Nothing can get through it.

That shouldn't be. That shouldn't be. But it is.

Something happened midway, you think. Something must have.

* * *

It's one fifteen in the afternoon.

You weren't in your room eleven hours and fifteen minutes ago. You were in front of your brother's room, grasping at the doorknob, trying to keep him from opening it. You had just woken up to that door moments ago.

What were you trying to do then? You don't have the answer. The answer's gone. Maybe fearing for its life after trying something so stupid.

 _Good riddance_ is what you think, when you remember the panic you felt at that moment when you woke up in the hallway. You don't need it. You definitely don't need any of this. You don't.

You curl up on your side, but you don't cry. You can't even feel your eyelids anymore when you blink. You can't even feel yourself anymore.

* * *

It's one forty-five in the afternoon. _Congratulations_ , you think to yourself, _finally you've cut off the biggest pest in your life_.

You can't even feel the relief.

* * *

It's three twenty-five in the afternoon. You're in your room. On your mat. Curling up onto yourself.

Somebody knocks. You catch the sound this time. It's your brother.

You remember a certain animosity. It's always been one-way, you know, because your brother cares too much about people around him to actually return it. He cares too much about you. You're important to him.

You've been wishing you aren't, like a selfish bastard.

The animosity isn't even here anymore. You can't feel it. You can't really feel anything. What are you even locking away? What is there to keep from your brother anymore? Why is the door locked? There's no reason for it to be locked anymore.

"Ritsu", you hear him calling.

You don't have the energy to go open it. You don't have the energy to feel. The evil spirit must have eaten it all up while possessing you.

 _What a coward_ , you think. _Can't even face what you did_.

The thought echoes up in your head. _What a coward_.

What a coward.

* * *

It's six in the evening. You're in your room. On your mat. Staring at the ceiling.

You parents are home. You can hear them. You can hear your brother making excuses for you. Says that you don't feel well and are sleeping.

It's the usual time for dinner. And you're in your room.

The door's locked.

You don't even know if it should be anymore. What you know is that nothing can go pass it, since it's locked.

There are feelings looming at your horizon, but you can't feel it properly.

You used to like the detachment. What's there for you now?

* * *

It's eight in the evening. You're in your room. On your mat. Staring at the ceiling.

You told him to get a clue.

That's what happened that day, right?

* * *

It's ten thirty P.M. You're in your room. On your mat.

You don't want to go to sleep; and for the first time, your fear actually helps you achieve something.

You keep staring at the ceiling.

* * *

It's midnight. The door's locked.

* * *

It's two A.M.

You can hear the door unlock. Of course, that shouldn't even be a problem to your brother.

His steps are quiet, but his figure bolds up in the dark in your eyes. You've been staring at the ceiling for a long time. You're used to the darkness in your room right now. There's still not much to stare at.

You're staring up at him now. He sits down beside you.

"You must be hungry," he says. "You haven't eaten anything the whole day."

What do you say to that?

You blink. He doesn't force you to answer. That's not something he ever does. He keeps talking instead – also something he never does. "Mom and Dad are worried, but they let it slide. They're sleeping now. There are dorayaki in the fridge. I can microwave one or two for you."

It feels like a statement. There's no answer demanded.

You both are quiet for a while. It's two A.M.

"Please go to sleep," you mumble. He hears it.

"No."

A sob makes it up your throat, and you let it escape.

* * *

It's three A.M. Your brother's in your room. Hugging you. As if it's the most rational decision after this whole series of events.

You're crying.

Everything hurts.

* * *

It's nine in the morning. You're in your room.

You didn't sleep. You've cried for a long time. You're tired and your head hurts.

Your brother's down in the kitchen. You can smell the soup. Mom probably saved your portion yesterday in case you wanted something afterwards.

"I can bring it up for you," your brother told you a while ago.

"I will come down," you tell him.

Your head pounds when you sit up, but at least you're doing something right. Your eyes are dry. Your mouth is dry.

The door isn't locked. You step out into the hallway, walk past your brother's room, and come downstairs.

Your door's open.

You leave it that way.


End file.
